Beyond the Pale
by Salysha
Summary: Steve Fox longs for the unattainable knowingly, and yet, he cannot help hoping... Slash, yaoi, Hwoarang/Steve, and Jin is there, too.
1. Beyond the Pale, Foxing

**Disclaimer**: Tekken and Tekken characters are the property of Namco Limited. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

**Warnings**: M-rated slash and yaoi, portrayal of an m/m relationship. Crude language, vulgarity, and sexual innuendo. The story will feature sex, but not in the form of intercourse.

**Pairing**: Hwoarang/Steve

* * *

Ask, and thou shalt be given. This one is for **Merriadoc**, whom I thank for an incredibly persuasive and flattering request for a Hwoarang/Steve fic. The specifics were left in my questionable care, and I hope that the outcome proves to be engaging and enjoyable, even if slightly unorthodox in tone and execution.

* * *

**Beyond the Pale**

by Salysha

**Chapter 1: Foxing**

The shaft before him was shapely and thick. Along with a balanced set of assets, it made for a well-proportioned, attractive package. Then, it was covered with a towel.

"Oy. Eyes up here."

Steve returned to the real world, where he had just been staring straight at Hwoarang's cock. He raised his eyes in horror to find Hwoarang looking back at him, and wanted to die on the spot.

"You _twit_," Hwoarang said and slapped him on the head. He fixed the towel around his waist and turned to his own locker, leaving Steve sitting in a numb daze. Other people shuffled around, but they escaped Steve's notice.

He woke again to find Hwoarang rooted to the spot, looking at him over his shoulder. He got a quizzical frown before Hwoarang reached into his locker again.

Steve wasn't really in any position to state how much he hated it when Hwoarang got all British-y on him with the _twit_-this and _arse_-that. He never knew where the Korean had picked up his near-perfect American accent, but the odd, hand-selected British-isms stood out in a stark contrast to it, complete with the imitated pronunciation that Hwoarang pushed to the limit just to get a rise out of him. This time, Hwoarang had every right to push him.

Steve found his tongue. "I'm sorry—"

"You all right, Steve? You're kind of out of it."

Hwoarang was calm and friendly, and Steve felt all the more rotten. "Jus' fine," he mumbled.

"You sure about that?" Hwoarang looked at him with a mixture of frown and concern. He was still wearing only a towel, Steve realized, and combing his wet hair with his fingers.

"It's nothing. Mate, I'm sorry—"

"Don't worry about it," Hwoarang said easily. "Doesn't wear off from looking." He brushed Steve's red-faced excuses off with his usual charm and stepped off a few steps away to exchange a few words with Jin, also freshly emerged from the showers and getting dressed himself. Steve remained sitting in a towel.

* * *

Steve had been there when it happened. They were all freshly arrived, when the Korean hothead and the Japanese glacier had met at the gym. Jin and Hwoarang had looked at each other unwaveringly, and some secret communication had passed. Then, Hwoarang had stepped up and held out his hand. Shortly, Jin had accepted, and they had shaken hands. They had been friends since.

Steve had witnessed their genesis, and it had been his Armageddon. By comparison to them, he was nothing but a monster and a beast, and his number was up...

"Sex, sex, sex."

Steve jumped at the angry voice at his ear. A glance to his right revealed a livid woman who had commandeered a seat at his table. "Go right ahead; it's not taken or anything," he muttered.

"Is that all you men ever think about?"

Steve couldn't help feeling vaguely offended. "How so?"

"You—" she seethed, "—and _him_ are all the same. You are _men_."

Steve was left waiting for the punch line of this story. He wondered, though, what had gotten her so furious. Who was she? He tried to wrap her name around his head. Asama...? Asuki? Asuka. Right. He wondered what had gotten Asuka's knickers in a twist, but unfortunately, made the mistake of saying so aloud.

Asuka stared at him with murder in her eyes, but then she overcame her indignation in favor of sharing the experience.

"_He—_" Asuka shot a look of venom that landed unmistakably on Hwoarang, who was doing business at the counter on the other end of the room, "came and asked if I wanted to _blow_ him."

Steve started. "Oh." He couldn't think of any retort. He swallowed hard, and tried to keep the blue off his face. If Hwoarang really had said that to the lady, there was nothing to say. The delivery was shockingly crude and offhand, but it left no room for guessing.

Steve glanced sideways at his companion: she was a petite, curvy, dark-haired Asian beauty, and all woman. All those, things he could never be. He was foxing himself big time, thinking he could have a shot against that, even if this were an alternate universe where he had any chance to begin with. Steve lowered his eyes and stared at his hands emptily.

"Couldn't stay away, darling?" Someone had approached with graceful stealth that had completely flown under Steve's radar. The inviting drawl pulled him to look at the familiar redhead, who was eyeing Asuka. "All you had to do was ask," Hwoarang continued and grabbed his crotch. His lips curved up.

"You are disgusting!" The chair was left swinging on its leg, as Asuka bolted on her feet and stormed away from them and out of the room.

Steve gaped mentally at the exchange, but he avoided making the earlier mistake. He settled for an uncomfortable studying of the table.

"Some people," Hwoarang summarized with a snort and took seat. The tension left him, and he set his glass down. "Sorry about that," he said and glanced at Steve.

Steve shrugged and managed a half-hearted smile. "A guy's gotta try."

"No, that's not it. You know what she did? Or who she is?" Hwoarang snapped a finger at his glass, which clinked in response. "The name's Asuka Kazama. She comes to Jin, right? They have the same last name, and this chick's gotten into her head that they're somehow related. Looks kind of like his mother, too, which makes it worse. Don't talk to Jin about his mother; you don't want to go there. It's not possible that they were related, but she insists and insists. Got Kazama all worked up, and just wouldn't leave the guy be. I don't like women like that."

Steve ventured a peek. Hwoarang had a hard look on his face, and the humor had died away. The earlier hadn't been about scoring with the girl, after all. The thought made him feel a tad better.

"I asked Kazama to join our table; I was sure you wouldn't mind. He's pretty upset. You know?"

Speak of the devil, Jin Kazama appeared on cue. He fumbled out a hello to Steve and smiled uncertainly.

That was another thing Steve wondered. How the hell could Hwoarang speak nearly flawless English, when Jin barely got a word out? He was a nice enough guy, and Steve really had nothing against him, but he seemed to avoid situations and people where and with whom he had to speak anything but Japanese. Going by the snippets Steve had caught, he seemed to get by perfectly well in English, too.

The heck was it any concern of his, even? Steve pulled himself together and forced a smile. "Hi, mate. Grab a seat," he said and did his best to sound friendly.

Jin pulled a chair, and was visibly grateful when Steve indicated that the others could talk freely about the subject they had in mind. Whatever the common ground those two had struck was, it didn't have room for a free-rider, and Steve sank into his chair. As Jin and Hwoarang sank into a quiet exchange and the occasional glances paid to him lessened, Steve risked a glance at the redhead, fully focused on the conversation and furrowing his brow in concentration. Steve pried his eyes away and stared sadly at the drink in his hands.

Yeah... it didn't pay off being the nice guy.

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

**Cordial thanks** to **Gypsie** (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!

**Revised** March 2, 2010.  
**Published** December 8, 2009.


	2. Beyond the Pale, Fox to Hunt

**Chapter 2: Fox to Hunt**

It wasn't like he was after every guy. It wasn't like he was necessarily after guys at all, but one struck a chord so deeply and unexpectedly, Steve didn't know what to do with himself. He looked at the guy, and felt it stirring. He couldn't nail the moment when his predicament began, but the state of affairs had been set in motion already at the start of the King of Iron Fist Tournament 4.

He had arrived and realized that everyone else had already made friends or enemies at the tournament, and felt even more of an outsider than usual. Hwoarang had made the exception: he had stepped up promptly and welcomed him with a firm shake of hands and an easy grin.

It wasn't like he started carrying the torch straight away, but even as he had returned home with news he hadn't wanted to know, he found himself thinking back to the redhead. It hadn't happened just once or twice. The math started to add up to that horrible moment when Steve found himself enjoying a shower with a happy ending, only to realize he was still thinking about the feisty Korean.

The object of his lust was a straight kind of a guy: spoke his mind and didn't bullshit. He was easy to be around with and a rakish charmer, who said he was out here to kick some ass and left it at that. Most importantly, he wasn't inclined the other way in the least.

Yeah... Steve, the middleweight champion of the world and the Mafia's favorite Fox to hunt, was badly smitten with Hwoarang and steadily bi-confused, and not very proud of it: Hwoarang was a mate, and it wasn't right to lust after him. Yet, he didn't know what he would have done had the new tournament not been called out so quickly.

And there Hwoarang was, close enough to enthrall, while he had a straight view to his clothed groin, inches from his face...

"Fox!" Hwoarang was alarmed, but his reflexes worked flawlessly. The bar never connected with Steve's face, where it had been heading, as Hwoarang flexed his muscles and stopped its downfall in the nick of time. He racked the weights with a clink. "Watch it! Christ! You almost got that thing in your face."

Steve was wide-eyed himself. He had been idling in a fantasy, and that had made him lose attention in the set of weighs above his head. That, and the proximity of the object of his woolgathering. He had simply lost focus. He slogged his way to sitting.

"You okay?" Hwoarang kind of spat the words out, but he was also squeezing his shoulder longer than necessary. Hwoarang didn't seem touchy-feely, but he was full of surprises.

"Sorry," Steve bumbled. He had been phasing out, but never like this.

"Wasn't my face," Hwoarang said. The pissed-off tone was waning, and Steve wished fervently he could bring it back and not have Hwoarang sound concerned. Caring. Hwoarang did that—barked a lot—but when the chips were down, he did care. "Steve...," Hwoarang spoke at length, seemingly engrossed with something else, "everything good by you? You seem out of it lately. You gotta shape up, or you'll get kicked out on the first round."

Steve deflated. "You don't have to tell me."

Hwoarang nodded to himself. The sounds of the exercise equipment from around them, along with the occasional grunts, barely filled the space. An uncomfortable silence loomed, until Hwoarang announced, "You're looking pale."

"I always look like this."

"Eat something." Hwoarang ran his fingers along Steve's face unexpectedly very lightly, very sexily. Oozing appeal he probably wouldn't have been comfortable showing, had he known it had this effect. His voice didn't have a sharp edge when he spoke, "And don't get yourself killed. Twat."

"Don't call me that," Steve reproached.

"I call you twit all the time."

"It's not the same. Don't call me that."

Hwoarang rolled his eyes, but the sympathetic look wasn't entirely gone, which made Steve gulp mentally. He was still seated when the next jolt hit: Jin joined in, _pectacular_ as usual. His presence electrified the room. Hwoarang stayed behind to spot for him in turn, with a demand that he get something to eat. It didn't escape Steve that Jin immediately switched to a heavier set of disks before even doing the first lift. He knew Jin didn't mean anything by it, but it still didn't feel good.

Steve headed to the showers with a sad look behind. Even if Hwoarang swung that way, how could he compete with that?

* * *

Now he was hanging out here, with all the other broke sods and sodettes who were taking advantage of the Mishima Zaibatsu's hospitality and crashed a fortnight for free before the tournament started. That included most of them young guys; blokes like the legendary Lee Chaolan would arrive at the last minute in a private helicopter laced with platinum. But he was here; there still weren't many of them around... that left him hanging around the same crowd, over again. That left the one he wanted to approach virtually free, except for his new shadow.

Immediately as he left a place, Kazama showed up and took his. Of course he did—why wouldn't he? If he was fair, there really weren't too many spots for them to hang out—and chasing skirts wasn't an option, for some reason—so it made sense that they kept bumping into each other. Hwoarang and Jin were friends now—of course they wanted to train together and between themselves. Of course, he didn't mind that, but they had been friends first. Hwoarang had been his friend first. Of course...

Steve's life seemed to be full of certainties lately, but he wasn't feeling it. Steve jabbed at his stew. He had gotten some food at Hwoarang's advice, but eating was decidedly unappealing. He pushed the plate aside.

* * *

Steve was seated at the table later, entertaining a soft drink he wasn't too keen on, when someone appeared by him.

"Hello."

Steve sighed to himself. Jin Kazama had made himself known and was looking to join him. He knew the guy was sincere and probably acting in good faith—truly, he did—but he would really have preferred to be by himself. Of course, he couldn't say that. "Hiya," he said and gestured Jin to sit down. Jin was trying to be friendly, so he could afford to have some grace. "All right?"

Jin blinked. "Excuse me?"

Steve told himself off. "I meant, how was working out?"

"It was fine," Jin said and seemed content with his answer. He nursed a glass himself, settling into his seat with silent ease.

Steve could take the silence, but not to the same extent. It was growing discomfiting, and he automatically sought to keep a conversation going. "So, you figure the tournament's gonna be rough? New blood's in and all that."

"It will be tough."

_It will be tough. So spoketh the rock._ He'd break through that infuriating calm yet. "Your family watching the games?"

"No." The change was minute but sure: Jin's voice faltered.

"I never knew my mum. Or dad. Could be any Rod, Dick, or _Hairy_."

Jin didn't react. A shroud of sadness had clouded his eyes, and he was staring at his glass, blinking. Steve felt a tinge of satisfaction—and felt the most rotten bastard immediately afterward. That had been a low blow. It wasn't Jin's fault that Hwoarang preferred him; he was nice and he was being nice, and himself a complete dick.

"Hey, mate, I'm sorry. I said something I shouldn't have." Steve reached forward and squeezed Jin's wrist quickly.

Jin gave a small smile, but he looked sad. His despondency shifted Steve's thoughts from Jin to himself. He had never been the blue-eyed boy. He'd gotten around in boxing and he'd been the best—why was he thinking in past tense?—but being the beloved champion with a legion of personal mates—no. He was painfully alone, and when he was around Jin, he got the same impression from him. Maybe they were similar in more ways than one. Jin was as lonely as he was and just wanted to make friends.

"Say, listen, wanna practice tomorrow? I could use someone tough to spar with."

The casual compliment didn't escape Jin; Steve saw how it sank in and lit up his face. Jin bowed his head gracefully. "I'd like that."

"Good." Steve's quickly-quirked grin was echoed in a more subdued manner on Jin's face before they continued sit around, but the mood was decidedly more amicable and at ease than earlier. It did occur to Steve that he had just agreed to fraternize with the enemy—fellow competitor, at least—and even that time was away from any that he could have spent around Hwoarang. It was just as well because wishes weren't horses, and he should stop hoping for the impossible, too.

**T.B.C.**

* * *

**Genial thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** and revised March 3, 2010.


	3. Beyond the Pale, Vulpine Craft

**Chapter 3: Vulpine Craft**

The goodwill lasted for exactly one day: the same one on which his and Jin's spar was delayed. The next-day workout became the day-after-tomorrow torment, and Steve's mood plummeted. It wasn't fair that he was cut out from Hwoarang and Jin's mutual appreciation society, the existence of which they weren't bothering to keep a secret. They did the odd thing together—shared a meal or even a laugh—but after that, even as he and Hwoarang were shooting the breeze, the attention always turned to Jin, like it was a law of nature. Steve's foul mood was boundless and growing by the minute.

It was time to put up a fight. The chance for a payback was delightfully near, too, and it wouldn't take vulpine craft to figure out how it was going to happen. He'd teach the little flirt some manners yet and get him off from whoring himself around Hwoarang. Steve wiped his brow and dried his gloves in his pants; unlike some, he actually wore clothes, and it was too hot in here.

Jin was getting ready on the other end. Hwoarang, too, had stolen a moment to punch the bag and spectate at them on the side.

"Oi, Steve! Best of Bri'ish!"

"Shut it." Steve pulled a glove off and gave Hwoarang two fingers. "Reduce one, twit."

"Is that the victory sign?"

"Yeah, sure, and it's directed at me."

Hwoarang gave a dirty laugh and returned to his training. A high kick, graceful and effortless, landed on the punching bag and made it quiver uncontrollably. Steve stole a glance at Hwoarang: his ass stood out in perse pants. Steve averted his eyes and focused on reattaching his glove.

Jin was approaching with an inquisitive brow, and Steve nodded. The other break didn't last too long, either. Hwoarang cleared the bag and came to lean on the ropes.

"Play nice, girls," he drawled.

"Get stuffed, sod."

"Didn't you used to talk different?" Hwoarang was gleeful.

Steve hid his grin. Hwoarang remained on the ringside, prepared to throw in the odd comment, but more likely disposed to picking tips for his own matches. Then, Hwoarang and his complimentary needling had to take a backseat, as Jin jumped the gun.

"Spar or match, Jin?" Steve offered.

"Spar, if you would," Jin said and bowed deep.

Steve nodded a little deeper than usual before pushing the mouthguard into place and pulling himself into an upright position.

Jin was a curious opponent. It wasn't too bad trying out how he responded to different jabs and uppercuts. Hwoarang was in a different series with his kicks, but Jin's greater reliance on his hands brought him closer to Steve himself. Less mobile and without that mercurial quality of Hwoarang, he nonetheless made for a disciplined fighter: judicious and precise. He defended more and was skillful at blocking him, but so was Steve at dodging his attacks in return. Neither of them was nor fought southpaw. The weight difference between Jin and him at middleweight was trifling, whereas Hwoarang must have stood at welterweight. Jin was the medium between both worlds—the best of both.

The stakes went up unawares. One minute, they were throwing punches and warming up, countering and blocking and evading in turn, studying the game and bettering their reading of each other. They even paid the token congratulatory remark on a move well performed. The next minute, Steve found his chest smarting nastily from a crouching jab Jin had delivered, and Jin faltered from the right cross he had given for his troubles.

"Hey. Don't kill each other." Hwoarang was ignored in concert, but he was clearly frowning now. He had abandoned his own training without fail and was dangling on the ropes, of two minds about going in or staying out.

The wince on Jin's face disappeared and was replaced by determination. He looked down fleetingly, and Steve followed, only to realize that he had fallen for the oldest trick in the book: he saw the upbound attack coming, but was too late to evade it. The mouth piece clunked against his teeth as the kick hit.

The acute pain magnified the humiliation; the fast one had been so obvious, it was profane. Steve boiled over that second. A moment of mustering up punching power was all it took before Steve landed a terrible hit on Jin that—despite the man guarding himself—sent him staggering and pressing his arms against his torso in shakes, holding back a wail.

Yet, Jin pulled himself into a stance, and Steve drew his fists up, and they charged simultaneously. After that, the world was dark for a long time.

* * *

"Welcome to the living."

Steve moved and wished he hadn't stirred at all. The nasty creak didn't originate from his bones, luckily, but from the soft cushioning he was lying on. Where? He uttered something inarticulate against taking it easy and struggled to wake up.

"Hold on; I'll get you something. All right, Steve? Don't go anywhere. Lie down and wait for me."

A parting squeeze bound him in place effectively. He didn't particularly want to wait, but if Hwoarang was saying it was okay to remain senseless, it must have been so. His head hurt like a fiend, and even though Hwoarang moved deftly out of the vicinity, the minute shaking of the ground floor felt like someone was hammering his skull.

Hwoarang talking again brought him back to the moment. "This is gonna hurt at first, but just stay still."

Something excruciatingly cold was pressed on his forehead. The pain upgraded from fiendish to diabolic in an instant, and Steve shoved the icy-something off head with a yelp.

"I said, still," Hwoarang said, but then his tone became kinder. "I know it hurts, but this is gonna help. Trust me on this." He waited before repositioning the icy-something back on Steve's forehead, carefully this time.

It still didn't feel good, but Hwoarang was asking for his trust... Steve could only comply and stop struggling. He made a wry face, as the freezing cool spread on his eyes and temples, and tried the icy-something to ascertain that it was some kind of a gel pack. He lay still for minutes.

Suddenly, the world cleared. Once the surprise waned, Steve snagged the cooling gel off his face and managed his eyes open. It was the living room of the house. His vision sharpened to Hwoarang, who sat on the table with his arms resting on his knees, watching over him.

"Welcome back."

Steve's hand went to his forehead, and he removed the gel pack. It was some kind of a weird strip that had extended across his temples.

"Told you." Hwoarang straightened up and stretched.

He was in the lounge, stretched out on the sofa and supported by the pillows. "How'd I get here?"

"You were conscious when we took you here. Needed a little help toward the end, though. Even wanted to take Kazama to his bed first."

"Uh?"

"Speaking of which, Jin's really sorry; he wanted me to tell you. He's upstairs; went to sleep the migraine off. It got out of hand, but so it got for you, too. You can both be so stubborn." Hwoarang heaved a martyred sigh.

As told by Mr. Headstrong, Willful, Obstinate, Adamant... Steve was too pained to continue. Hwoarang was moving a little too fast for him, but he was now getting feedback on stubbornness from the man. Steve defied wooziness and sat up against the backrest.

Hwoarang eyed him critically. "How's the head?"

"Attached." He must have sounded morose because Hwoarang cracked a grin.

He was given time to recover, but then Hwoarang moved to sit beside him on the sofa and patted his thigh. "We're gonna talk this through right now, you and me. What's wrong?"

Hwoarang was sitting so close by, silent and resilient. He could walk away from this, but sooner or later, Hwoarang would dig it out of him, and then, Hwoarang wouldn't be using that tone that sounded like he wanted to know. Steve gave in. "I like you."

"I like you, too. What's the problem?"

He could still take it back and find an excuse, but he just felt so empty. "I like you." Steve looked at his hands and sagged. He could hear the wheels turning in Hwoarang's head. It wouldn't be long until he connected the dots, and the dreaded reaction would come.

_It could be the next second. Any time n—_

Hwoarang loomed in the corner of his eye until a hand was wrapped around his chin and a wet, sloppy kiss was planted on his lips. Hwoarang sat back and cast him a sideways glance, "Don't tell me you didn't know." When no response came, he took in Steve's flummoxed face and actually seemed to startle. "You didn't."

"No!" _That came a little LOUD. _"Since when?"

"Birth?" Hwoarang offered helplessly. He was starting to grow concerned that Steve would severe an artery and give himself brain damage.

"_You're_ into guys?"

"Bit of both," Hwoarang said without further ado.

As Steve processed the information, it was Hwoarang's time to think of Steve's brain as a Tetris game of sorts; he just waited for the colorful blocks to be arranged in the right order. There— it seemed that time had done its trick. "Oh, heck," Steve said and sunk back.

Hwoarang looked at him under his brow. "You could have just told me, twat."

"Don't call me that," Steve said automatically.

And all of a sudden, Hwoarang had flipped him to his back and was on all fours above him, stealing kisses from him as he held onto the man's thigh with firmness that evolved from a startled support to a grip that suggested something beyond friendship. It was turning him on, fast. Just then, someone entered the room.

Jin took in the sight: Hwoarang straddling Steve, and Steve peeking from behind the backrest disheveled, obviously caught in the act. "You can't do that here," he said flatly.

Hwoarang faced him head-on, unabashed. "Why not? No one's come in except you, so unless you want to watch, you might want to get out."

Jin frowned, but Hwoarang was adamantly in place and refused to let Steve move, either. He pushed Steve back down, as he tried to get up and dispel the embarrassing situation. "Fine," Jin conceded. He turned on his heel and pulled the door shut behind him.

Hwoarang snorted and turned back to Steve, intent to continue from where they had left off, but Steve struggled up and forced him to back down, too.

"What is it? You aren't feeling sick, are you?"

"What about Jin?"

"_Jin?_" Hwoarang sounded genuinely confused. "What about him?"

"Aren't you...?" Steve tried. This was growing wildly confusing. "Don't you and him have something going on?"

"Jin and me? Why would you—?" Hwoarang caught the drift. He helped Steve sit up properly before agreeing to say another word. "I've nothing going on with Kazama. He's a good— he's a _decent_ fighter, but that's the end of it."

"You sure about that?"

"Look, Kazama's a nice enough guy, but he's not exactly a people person. You know? He doesn't care. I don't even know what he ships for." Hwoarang sank into thought and perished any resulting notions with a shake of his head and an involuntary shiver. "No clue."

"Fine."

Hwoarang's eyes glinted in amusement. "You're jealous!"

"Am not."

"Are, _too_," Hwoarang cooed, but Steve was just about to jab him, he lost the smirky tone, "I'm not interested; he's not interested. You really wanna talk about Kazama?"

Smiling a little, Steve shook his head, only to wince in earnest.

"The head's not too good?"

"A bi' wonky."

"You should go lie down. Come on." Warm fingers touched the side of Steve's face before Hwoarang hoisted himself up, taking Steve by the arm and grabbing the boxing gloves from the table. "I'll tuck you in. Girl."

"Sod."

"Maybe later."

**T.B.C.**

* * *

Perse (pronounced "purse") is a dark grayish blue or purple. Southpaw means left-handed (style).

**Hearty thanks** to **Gypsie** for the proofreading!

**Published** April 13, 2010.


	4. Beyond the Pale, Vixen

**Reply to the anonymous reviewer:**

**Anonymous**, thanks for the review! The passage you were referring to with the welterweight comment (Chapter 3) was from Steve's perspective, though, not a claim I was making. Similarly, in this chapter, you see Steve going slightly off the mark with his estimation of Hwoarang's height.

**M-rated content.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Vixen**

Steve lay on his back and turned to his side. Hwoarang was still sleeping peacefully.

After Hwoarang had escorted him back to his room, he had stayed on for company, and they had more or less bundled: slept in the same bed with their clothes on. Hwoarang had just kicked his shoes off and crawled on top of the covers next to him.

Steve couldn't resist watching him. When Hwoarang forgot to frown, he looked his age: young enough to yet be an idealist. A fond smile emerged . . . and made way for a wince that reminded him that his head had been splitting only hours ago. Steve ran the risk and glanced at Hwoarang once more before letting his head sink into the pillow and closing his eyes with a smile.

* * *

The new understanding put an end to the nervous tension that had been flying amok. There wasn't a reason to remain agitated because everything had been laid clear. There wasn't anything to fight about. They could even have breakfast together and laugh, as Hwoarang explained some story, wildly gesturing with his hand. The other remained under the table, steadily latched onto Steve's thigh.

Steve couldn't help wondering about Jin a little: he really didn't seem to make much of it, even though he had to know something was going on. He thought he got Jin's attitude, though, and kicked back, without really listening to whatever Hwoarang was droning on about. Whatever it was, it still sounded pretty great to him.

The only problem was finding room to make something of the new understanding. The hopes of having a quiet time were effectively thwarted by the training, and the shared accommodation was efficient at keeping the urges at bay, too. By evening, Steve had to bow to the inevitable and reconcile himself to accepting that nothing was going to happen. So much for entertaining a bit of how's your father. He headed to take a shower.

He barely nudged the door closed and put his things down, about to secure the lock, when the door was cracked open and Hwoarang slipped into the room.

Steve smiled a little, but he pointed out, "I'm taking a shower."

"I know."

_Then what...?_ "But wh—"

Hwoarang pulled off his shirt up his arms and stopped to take a good look at Steve, with an expression that clearly said, _"Well, duh."_

_Oh._ The light bulb lit.

Hwoarang smirked and still gave him _a look_ before reaching for his belt. Steve woke and darted past him to bolt the door. When the door was safe, they exchanged smiles, breathing into each other's space, intoxicatingly near . . . and parted without making a contact, as Hwoarang was finished and moved to the tub, but not before sizing Steve up through his pants and showing off what he had. Behind the curtain, the shower went off, and the screaky noises that didn't come from Hwoarang hinted that the water was being adjusted.

Steve heaped the last of his clothes on the toilet seat and was welcomed to the warm steam of the tub. Hwoarang made room for him, smug, and—_worryingly? Excitingly?—_left him in the front.

It was exciting, Steve quickly decided. Hwoarang let him get his feet wet before drawing closer, and Steve felt hands touch his trapezius muscles lightly; they sent thrills down his back. The hands roved around him, tickling and baiting, just light enough to make him hang on and just fresh enough not to make him frustrated yet. Steve backed up a little.

A chuckle came, and the fingers were switched to palms, which ran along his back and sides. Hwoarang briefly reached above his shoulder, wetting his hands in the spray, and then returned to Steve's back, moist and heated through the deceptive cool.

"Hey," Hwoarang said in a silky voice, suddenly by Steve's ear.

Steve tilted his head, and Hwoarang sank onto kissing him from the side, nearing his back at the same time, so close they were a smidgeon from touching. The body heat, imaginary or not, played havoc with Steve's imagination.

Just then, Hwoarang broke off the kiss, leaving Steve dangling for more. Steve craned his neck, but Hwoarang backed out of reach, infuriatingly close still, and snapped his fingers. Liquid soap was near enough, and Steve spurted a right pool of it in his outstretched hands, satisfied when Hwoarang jumped behind him._ Expecting a soap bar, weren't you?_ Steve toned down the volume of the spray, and Hwoarang seemed to let go of his indignation, as he wrapped his arms around Steve and began spreading soap on his chest.

Steve noted incoherently how the hand went down his abdomen. While the other one remained around his chest, distracting him, the one hand ventured further still. Hwoarang ran a thick thumb across his shaft before curling his palm around his balls and running a sweep on them. After the introductions, Hwoarang grabbed his cock confidently and administered it lathery strokes. Hwoarang coaxed him to turn his head to the side, and the kissing resumed, with Hwoarang taking full possession of Steve's mouth while effectively soaping him up.

Steve knew he had an inch or two on Hwoarang, despite Hwoarang trying to mitigate the height difference as best as he could, which meant Hwoarang had to be standing on his tippy toes. The idea of Hwoarang on his tippy toes amused him, which prompted Hwoarang to cut loose and mutter, "What?"

Steve didn't think too long. "Feels good."

"Oh, yeah?"

Steve got a light peck on his lips and a squeeze on his dick, and then Hwoarang moved swiftly past him, the tip of his penis brushing high up on Steve's hip as he did. Then, Hwoarang was standing in front of him, leaning down a little so pointy red hair met his gaze, and Steve could see Hwoarang smiling as he tugged at his dick again, from the base to the tip. Hwoarang worked the shower back on. Clear drops of stray water pearled in his hair and gleamed brightly.

"I think it's clean now," Steve said in amusement.

"I agree."

And while Steve had expected Hwoarang to let go of his dick and lavish attention on his other parts instead, Hwoarang killed the shower and promptly dropped on his knees before doing every man's dream. Hwoarang kept looking at him while doing it, and Steve groaned in earnest; this was a situation where he should've been sprawled on a bed instead of trying to stand and futilely keep his knees from buckling. There was no greater aphrodisiac than to have someone going down on you and enjoying it. _Thataway._

Someone banged the door. "How long are you taking there? Other people need the room, too!"

Asuka Kazama had found a way to make a three-way less sexy.

Steve looked incredulous. Hwoarang slowed down and pricked up his ears, mainly to see what Steve would do, but he didn't stop entirely. Asuka banged the door again.

"A little busy," Steve called.

_One, two, three..._

"You are disgusting!" Asuka shrieked.

She stomped off, leaving the pair badly out of step. Hwoarang's concentration had been broken irrevocably. He cleared his throat, with a lick to his lips and another one that touched a little more than just air, and gave Steve a glance.

"In all honesty, I don't think she guessed right."

Steve gaped. "I can't believe this."

Hwoarang smiled wryly. "Yeah. She's a gift that keeps on giving."

_Vixen._

The mirth took over little by little, and Steve was able to give a chuckle, then a laugh. He ruffled his hair and looked down, finding Hwoarang still there. An imploring look from him, along with a tactical swing, goaded the man to resume. Hwoarang grabbed his cock again with a smirk and took a willing taste, but Steve only got two delicious sucks before his member was again left at the mercy of air.

"Sorry," Hwoarang said. Steve's disbelief was sizeable as Hwoarang fell back on the tub, shaking. "Sorry, I can't," he managed and broke out in laughter.

"You can't be serious," he appealed. "Come on..."

Shaking his head, Hwoarang was laughing uncontrollably, and he squeezed Steve's dick by accident, which put Steve wincing a little. Steve was still giving him an appealing look, and Hwoarang did his best to sober up.

The flesh was willing, but the spirit was weak. Hwoarang tried putting in his mouth, but he was quickly reduced to laughter. He could only grab the root and look at Steve in apology. "Sorry, it's just not working. Any time I try, I start thinking about it. You'll get teeth if I try."

"Don't say anything about teeth, or that's going to take a lot longer," Steve said with a shudder, protectively.

Hwoarang gave a dry laugh, but he was sympathetic. "There are other ways," he said mindfully. "Rain check?"

Steve acquiesced reluctantly. Hwoarang gave him a reassuring smirk and a quick kiss on the tip, along with a long lick along the connecting vein, as a promise for more tongue-massage later. He did stay at the bottom of the tub for a while longer, though.

* * *

Steve kicked back after a particularly satisfying snog session and sighed contently. "Why didn't we think of this before?"

His old chap was still tingling from the joy of their activities, and he felt around fifty for thinking that. On his side, Hwoarang cracked an eye open and grinned at him. It didn't take long of him to crawl from under the covers, with his naked self in full view, and resume the activities. On his hands and knees, he left Steve hanging before pressing their lips together. Steve motioned his mouth over Hwoarang's.

Hwoarang eventually pulled away, just out of reach. Head tilted still, a lopsided grin on his face, he flung a leg over Steve and straddled him loosely. Still smirking, and being smirked back at just the same, he lowered himself, sitting lightly. Steve gave a throaty sigh to show that he appreciated the thinness of the sheet. "I like you there," he said with a smirk. That was Hwoarang astride, not him.

Hwoarang realized the same. "I bet," he said dryly, but he didn't seem to mind too much. On the contrary: he took the opportunity to sit down straight on Steve's bulge, to the very appreciative Steve's delight. Even with the sheets between them, the implications teased him cruelly.

"Feeling good?" Hwoarang murmured as he leaned down all the way to nozzle Steve's neck lightly.

"Topping."

"You aren't."

"Sod."

"Thinking ahead."

"Codswallop."

"Nonsense," Hwoarang murmured. "Twat."

"Don't call me that."

"What's it mean?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Steve said and pulled Hwoarang down firmly to kiss him.

It did feel really good, but eventually he had to let Hwoarang roll on the side and get comfortable. Hwoarang stretched out royally and sprawled across the sheets.

Steve processed the progression of events thus far and found them pleasing to the point of delirium. Hwoarang didn't seem worse off, either; he was smug enough for more. Before he could stop it, the question got out. "What to do from here?"

The casual tone of voice failed. Steve saw immediately that Hwoarang took it for the serious question it was and cursed himself. He cursed himself further as Hwoarang picked himself up and draped a corner of the sheet up to his navel. He had made a mess of things. Steve had his heart leap up his throat until Hwoarang spoke.

"I haven't thought about it yet. Haven't had a chance to, yet." Hwoarang looked at Steve under his brow and quickly moved to stare at the sheets instead. He continued to stare even as he made the offer that brought a grin to Steve's face. "I was thinking, though... we've the whole tournament to ourselves. Take that time and see what comes out of it?"

**THE END **

* * *

**In conclusion:**

Twat, in addition to having the meaning of twit (nitwit), a moron, is also a word for female private parts. Old chap had no competition from old faithful or mustn'touchit. Beyond the pale, the name of this fic, means 'beyond that which is acceptable, past the limits of acceptable.'

This has been one fun story to write. Thanks for reading! Please review.

**Heartfelt thanks** to **Gypsie** for proofreading the entire story!

**Published** August 7, 2010.


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